


Morning After

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [51]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: Buffy's expecting.  Expecting what, they're not quite sure yet.





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as "A Raising In the Sun" et al., immediately after "In A Yellow Wood/Lesser of Two Evils" and immediately before "Mightier Than The Sword." Written for the sb-fag-ends Livejournal community prompt "The cold light of day." Shameless, shameless fluff. (But I have to write a much more serious ficlet about Buffy talking to Willow that takes place after Buffy gets out of bed, so perhaps I may be forgiven.)

It was past noon when Buffy woke, clawing her way out of a dream where she trudged across the blistering red sands of Wolfram & Hart's pocket dimension, while small, spiny demons pursued her, cheeping "Mama! Mama!" Spike tightened his arm around her middle as she stirred, pulling her closer with a predatory rumble of content. She could just lie here, right? Safe and warm and comfortable, letting Spike's not-a-purr lull her back to sleep, and forget all about the impossible little clump of cells busily multiplying away in her belly? 

Well, not impossible. But extremely unlikely. The doctors at the Gregson Clinic had been very clear about that, when they'd examined the newly-living-and-breathing Spike a year and a half ago. Lacking a soul, the revivifying properties of the Mohra blood had left him very much a vampire, albeit one with a (very slow) pulse. And she was still (mostly) human. What really was impossible was not thinking about the weird little blob on Doctor Sparrow's evil ultrasound machine, or about what Spike's demon side had looked like in Pylea...or what _her_ demon side had looked like in Pylea, or – "Spike," she whispered. "Wake up. We have to talk."

Spike's nose burrowed deeper into the crook of her neck. "Decided to kill me after all?" he mumbled.

He didn't sound terribly concerned about his immanent demise, and Buffy wasn't sure if that was reassuring or irritating. "No." She rolled over within the circle of his embrace and poked him in the ribs. "About Lizard Baby."

Immediately, Spike's eyes flew open and he propped himself up on one elbow, all enthusiasm. "Ah, I've been thinking about that! I reckon we can move all the rubbish from my office over to the crypt and make the office into a nursery. That'll leave your old room free for Dawn for the next few years, and if we've got another one on the way by the time she moves out – " At her deer-in-the-headlights look, he reined himself in, looking as penitent as he was capable of. "Sorry, love. Getting ahead of myself. 'Course we'll want to talk about names first."

Buffy groaned. "Spike... look, I was a little manic last night, and – "

Worried blue eyes searched her face. "Ah. You... uh... haven't changed your mind, have you? About keeping her?"

She stilled, studying him in turn. "What if I said I had?"

He flinched as though she'd hit him, and the fact that he tried to hide it somehow made it worse. "I'd get hammered and smash something up. You'd break my heart, love, but it wouldn't be the first time. Nor the last, if that's what you're worried about."

A brief shudder went through her – _I was terrified, you dope. You want this so badly..._ "I haven't changed my mind." His chest, which had been motionless as stone beneath her hand, rose and fell in a sudden hitching breath of relief. "I... I don't know if we'll ever get a chance to do this again, you know? Maybe it's a one-time thing. But we don't know nearly enough about what's happening in here." She dropped a hand to her stomach, where Lizard Baby gestated blissfully unaware of his-hers-its mother's angst, and her fingers clenched. "We've got to face the possibility that this isn't... normal." Before Spike could respond, she rushed on, "And I don't just mean not human! We have no idea what normal even is for us! If this is because of some weird prophecy or curse or – Cordelia's had what, three demon pregnancies? And none of them ended well! What if it inherits all the demony parts from both of us, and really is a lizard baby?"

Spike sucked his cheeks in, suppressing a smile. "You rather fancied me with scales, as I recall. But this isn't Pylea, pet. I don't think that's likely."

"Nothing about this is likely!" Two weeks ago everything had been normal. Or as normal as it got for a vampire slayer living in wedded bliss with a nominally-reformed, magically-revivified vampire. And then White Pill Week had arrived, but nothing else had. It hadn't been that unusual for Buffy to skip a period back when she was in college. It happened to female athletes all the time, the magazines had assured her. Just a normal consequence of ultra-low body fat. But over the last two years she'd made peace with the demands of Slayer appetite, and on the pills she'd been as regular as clockwork. She'd been concerned more for Spike (who looked forward to White Pill Week all month) than for herself. Sure, she'd been a little tired lately, but what else was new, and maybe her breasts were a little tender, but so what, and it was totally impossible, so why was she even buying the kit?

And then she'd been sitting in the bathroom, staring at an impossible pink line. And shortly thereafter, zapped into a Wolfram & Hart prison dimension with a dozen of her alternate-universe selves. But hey, that part was just another average day in Sunnydale.

"The boffins at the Clinic told us there was an outside chance. Which is why you were on those bloody pills, for all the good they did." Spike couldn't quite keep the note of smug satisfaction out of his voice, as though he'd singlehandedly defeated the forces of the contraceptive industry. "You're not the only one who's been cogitating during this whole affair. I never got a chance to ask before that Mears bastard spirited you and the mite off to durance vile – how far along are you, Slayer?"

What had Sparrow said? "About six weeks. I think."

"Well, then, two questions: One, what did we do six weeks ago that we'd never done before, and two, how do vampires generally make more vampires?"

For a minute Buffy's mind blanked, and then — _Oh._ The weekend vacation to Tijuana. The fight with the nest of vampires. The exhilarating post-fight sex. Spike's fangs grazing her shoulder – an accident, because he never, but _never_ bit her for real. But an accident that sent a startling bolt of hurts-so-good pleasure through her, leading to... her cheeks heated at the memory. A random sentence from the stack of reports on Spike's one-of-a-kind physiology which Fred Burkle had tried to translate for them flashed through her mind: _...biological analogs of most vampire physical functions..._ "We... um."

"We did indeed. No prophecies. No curses. Just nature taking its course. Heartbeat or no, I'm still a vampire. We can fuck each other's brains out, but I can only get you up the duff if I bite you while we're doing it." Spike's barely-suppressed grin had progressed from smug to downright insufferable, and he sounded not just jubilant, but... relieved? "Should have sussed it out earlier, really."

It struck her that maybe his ebullient mood wasn't just soulless cluelessness or callousness. She took his hand. " _You_ were worried?"

Embarrassed, he ducked his head. When he spoke again his voice was low and rough and earnest, almost pleading. "Never wanted to bite you before, did I? Least, not since I stopped wanting to kill you. Not like – " he stopped himself. "Some other tossers with fangs. And then all of a sudden I did. Won't lie, it rattled me a bit. Felt like it was different this time, but what if I was fooling myself? What if I couldn't stop with just a taste? I fretted over it a good bit, until you dropped your little bombshell, and I put two and two together. Not about killing at all, not between you and me. Not anymore." 

Buffy gripped his fingers hard, and blinked against the tears welling up. Stupid hormones. "Spike, I never thought you wanted –" She took a deep breath. "But we need to call Giles and research this anyway. Wolfram & Hart's pet Mengele had a creepy magical ultrasound, and I saw the screen, and it...it had a tail."

He broke into a laugh, and before she could smack him, "Love... that's perfectly normal at six weeks. I looked it up on the internet while you were in the shower last night." He considered for a moment. "Much more likely she's going to end up with fangs."

"It – oh." Buffy subsided into the blankets, scowling. "I knew that. Just being cautious."

Spike rolled over, panther-lithe, and sat up. "Ring up the Watcher, and the Clinic too while you're at it, if it'll set your mind at rest. I'll let 'em poke and prod me some more. But tonight I'm going down to Willy's and celebrate. Get hammered. Smash something up." 

"Hmf. Better make it a good night, because it's the last time you'll be doing that for a good long while. Even if this is an ordinary human baby, there's so much – can we afford it? What about slaying? And college? My God, we have to start saving for college right now!"

That gave him pause, but only for a moment. No suppressing the grin this time; it broke over his face as wide and brilliant as sunrise. "Best night of my life."

**End**


End file.
